


Willing Company

by lunacosas



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Eskel Has Self-Esteem Issues (The Witcher), Eskel Is Kiss-Starved, Horns, Incubus Jaskier | Dandelion, Kissing, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, Succubi & Incubi, Tails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacosas/pseuds/lunacosas
Summary: The incubus singles him out, and Eskel doesn't mind. They can both get something they need.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 192





	Willing Company

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Bee for the prompt!

He knows what he is. There’s no mistaking the nature of his beauty, the curl of his horns, nor the hunger within his eyes as he watches Eskel from across the tavern. His eyes are blue, Eskel realises, all other colours paling in insignificance as the incubus singles him out.

There’s no questions as to what he’ll do. Draining the last of his ale, Eskel rises to meet him.

“A Witcher,” the incubus smiles, more beautiful than words can do justice to as he steps into Eskel’s space. “Are you here to kill me?”

The smell of brimstone beneath the warm, inviting scent of clean skin and arousal is far from dissuading. “Should I be?”

The smile shifts to a smirk, the incubus’ gaze darkening. “Come, Witcher.”

He goes easily, to a room above the tavern that will serve its purpose. The lacing at the front of the incubus’ shirt falls open at his touch, the warm, broad expanse of skin welcoming him as he breathes in the incubus’ scent, stronger now, making him burn with growing longing.

“You know,” the incubus murmurs, his lips brushing against Eskel’s. The caress sends a thrill through him, a moan rising in his throat at the rarely given touch, even if he knows it was a mistake. “You need not be gentle with me.”

“I know,” he breathes, the thin shirt falling away, Eskel’s fingertips chasing it from the incubus’ shoulders. He pulls the incubus to him, his nose grazing against a rough cheek as he closes his eyes, feeling the sturdy warmth of the unmistakably masculine body against his own. His attention slips lower, lips grazing against a bared throat, a hand stroking the base of the incubus’ tail as his pants are shoved down. The creature falters, gasping, and Eskel tastes his skin, feeling the way he reacts as he rocks forward against Eskel.

“My darling Witcher,” in incubus murmurs, and Eskel scoffs at the words, finding fingers tilting his jaw up, lips against his, silencing him.

Whatever more the incubus might have been going to say goes unsaid. Eskel shudders into the kiss, hungrier for it than he would ever admit. The incubus knows, though. He knows and presses the advantage, hungry for what he can give him, letting Eskel taste the warmth of his desire, the promise of it. He lets himself believe the lie that he’s wanted for who he is, not what he can offer, and then thinks no more of it as hands divest him of his armour, leaving him in a state of haphazard undress as he pushes forward. The incubus yields, sinking easily to the bed, his hand tangled in Eskel’s shirt to keep him near.

“How would you have me?” he pants.

His hand against the incubus’ thigh, Eskel feels the thrill of skin giving way to fur. “On your knees.”

With a small, choked sound, the incubus shifts. He turns and moves further onto the bed, kneeling on all fours. Eskel holds back a moment, admiring the perfection of him, ignoring the tug of longing that comes from his chest, not his cock. Still wearing his gloves, his fingers bite into perfect flesh as he leans in, lips pressing against the base of the incubus’ tail. It draws a choked gasp from the creature, and as he does it again, licking and then gently biting down, the incubus moans loud enough for all the tavern to hear.

“Don’t!” the incubus begs, rocking back in spite of his words. “Don’t…”

Eskel hums, unsatisfied but content to listen to the plea. His attention shifts lower, to the inviting pucker of the incubus’ hole, and he kisses him there, listening to the way his voice tightens into a whine, the muscles in his thighs tensing. He twitches and loosens beneath Eskel’s tongue, singing sweetly, and even sweeter still when Eskel takes his tail in hand, the rough pad of his thumb gently stroking the clearly sensitive skin. The discovery of it pleases him, his clothes becoming abrasive against his skin, the heat within him too much to bear as his need increases a hundredfold.

Impatient now, breathless, the taste of warm skin on his tongue, Eskel moves up over the incubus’ back. He kisses and licks at the inviting, smooth landscape of his back, each little hitch of breath and tremble of the body beneath him intoxicating.

“Oil?” he asks against the shell of the incubus’ ear, his voice almost laughably wrecked with the force of need coursing through him.

“Yes,” the incubus says, twisting beneath him so that he can kiss Eskel. He slides from the bed, leaving Eskel to make quick work of the rest of his clothes, kicking his boots and pants off just as the incubus settles back on all fours. The phial of oil rests against his knee, and Eskel takes it in hand, unfastening it and letting the contents spill over his fingers.

The incubus accepts him easily, gasping as a thick finger slips into him. He moans again, and Eskel loses what little breath he has left as he watches the tight ring of muscles flutter around his finger, rosy pink and slick.

“Need you, Witcher,” the incubus moans, pushing back and taking Eskel’s finger to the third knuckle. “Please, please…”

The second finger slides in just as easily, the tightness relaxing to accommodate the intrusion. Eskel scissors his fingers, fucking the incubus with them. With a little more oil, a third is just as hungrily accepted, the incubus now hiding his face in the mattress. It does nothing to hide the pleading sobs he makes, nor dull the feverish need burning within Eskel.

His patience worn thin, Eskel makes quick work of oiling himself up. His clean hand gripping the incubus’ hip, he slides his knee forward, his other foot against the mattress to offer him leverage he doesn’t need but wants anway. With surety, he pushes forward, slipping into the slick, welcoming embrace of the incubus’ body. A groan leaves him as the creature beneath him cries out in unfettered relief, tightening and clawing at the thin bedsheet. He pushes back to meet Eskel’s thrust, nothing gentle or graceful about the way they come together. Eskel surrenders control, fucking hard into the willing body beneath him, skin slapping against skin, the incubus’ moans tangled with the creaking of the bedframe and the rawness in Eskel’s throat as he gasps at the searing pleasure coursing through him. He holds the incubus’ hips tight, allowing his power to unfurl, the hunt for his own pleasure feeding the incubus, nurturing the happy, wrecked sobs he utters as a welcome ache grips Eskel’s muscles.

He would be content to continue, to fuck and find release like this, fast and hard and unrelenting, but a touch makes him falter. The incubus’ fingers reach back, grazing against the back of his hand, loosening it from its grip. His hand is claimed, fingers lacing with his, and he falters, slowing. Sweat drips from his brow, staining the bowed contours of the incubus’ back, and Eskel leans down, kissing him, kissing his neck and shoulders. “Stay,” he murmurs, unsurprised by the unhappy whine he receives when he pulls back, withdrawing.

Turning the incubus over, Eskel pulls him into his arms, sitting back so that the creature might fill his lap. Any other being would be near boneless already, loose-limbed and pliant, but the incubus is more than equal to the task of bedding a witcher. He takes Eskel’s cock in hand, guiding it to where it belongs, and as he sinks down into Eskel’s lap, Eskel watches the look of ecstasy that dances across his beautiful face.

“Are you shy, my darling?” he asks Eskel, catching his chin again as Eskel makes to bow his head.

He need not point out that most don’t wish to look at him as he fucks them. Succubi and incubi might not care, but something in Eskel does.

“I like it when you kiss me,” he says, lips dangerously close to Eskel’s as he grinds his hips, the pace just shy of painfully slow.

He takes the lie. It’s probably not a lie anyway, anything that feels good to him pleasing the incubus too. That’s the whole point of this transaction, so he embraces it. He kisses with all the warmth he can offer, all the hunger he feels, fingers tangling in the incubus’ hair, tracing the curl of his horns. Arm locked around the incubus’ waist, he allows himself to become breathless, spellbound by the rhythm of their fucking, the sweat and heat and rawness of it. The kiss breaks with a moan as Eskel brings his hand to the incubus’ cock, stroking it and finding himself rewarded by a litany of curses.

“So good,” the incubus murmurs. “Fuck, Witcher, you feel so good. Don’t want this to end.”

Eskel kisses him again, not wanting to hear it. It will end sooner than either of them like, because there is only so long he can last buried deep in perfection, a flushed cock twitching in his hand, a slick hole fluttering around him. He tastes the warmth of the incubus against his tongue, feels the smoothness of his skin beneath his fingers, the warm press of fur where his legs press against Eskel’s thighs. The incubus’ tail is sensitive when Eskel caresses it, another part of the incubus’ body Eskel delights in.

He shifts them again, pushing forward this time, pinning the incubus beneath him. Strong thighs squeeze his waist, the incubus’ hands tangling in his hair as Eskel rocks into him. “Fuck! Oh yes, my darling, just like that! Please don’t stop, please…”

Eskel kisses his throat, the melodic murmurs becoming low, wrecked moans as his teeth and tongue tease sensitive skin. Between them, their stomachs become sticky with the precome, the incubus’ cock oozing copious amounts as Eskel fucks into him. He wraps his hand around it again, squeezing and stroking, the softer pad of his thumb rubbing over the head and drawing a cry from the beautiful being beneath him.

“Please…”

His heart falters, tripping over itself as the immediacy of the end hits him. Not wanting to let go, and yet unable to hold on forever, Eskel kisses the incubus, angling his hips and thrusting deep into him. He swallows the moans they make, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut as the last few dizzying, perfect moments slip by far too quickly.

The incubus, to his detached amazement, comes first. With a bone-deep shudder, his cock pulses and spurts in Eskel’s hand, the skin between them slick as the kiss breaks, a sob of ecstasy falling from the incubus’ lips. The muscles gripping Eskel’s cock tightening and fluttering around him, drawing him helplessly over the edge, and he comes hard, seeing stars. He rocks into the body beneath him with each wave of release, spilling his load as deep as he can.

And then it’s over, the fevered need leaving him in a rush, taking with it no small amount of his strength. Eskel half collapses on the incubus, groaning and rolling to the side, his cock slipping wetly from the very generously used hole.

The incubus makes a strange noise, something that sounds close to a whimper.

“Did I hurt you?” Eskel fears.

“No, I’m not hurt.”

Good, he thinks, but is momentarily too tired to speak. He lies still, catching his breath, letting the sweat cool on his body, the scent of fucking hanging thick in the air. Beside him, the incubus’ breathing evens out, his heart rate remaining far quicker than Eskel’s will ever be. He listens to it, and then decides he’s put off the task of leaving too long.

He’s barely swung his feet to the floor when the incubus shifts behind him, calling out.

“Wait! Don’t go.”

He turns to look at the beautiful creature, once again captivated by those astonishing blue eyes that still betray a need.

“Are you not satisfied?”

“Oh, I am satisfied,” the incubus says, sitting up and angling himself towards Eskel. His body is perfectly proportioned, his cock resting prettily against his thigh. Eskel can smell oil mixed with sweat, his own scent smeared against the incubus’ skin and concentrated between his thighs. “But I still desire your presence.”

He understands the request as soon as it’s spoken. “Someone wishes to kill you.”

The incubus laughs, a beautiful, light sound that makes Eskel forget the sun. “Many do, yes, but they can’t harm me. No, my darling Witcher, I don’t need your protection.”

Other than his services, there’s nothing Eskel has to offer. He hesitates, unsure of what else there could be.

The incubus smiles softly, his words gentle. “Your company would be nice, if you’re willing?”

He blinks. “You want…?”

“Just lie with me,” the incubus tempts.

Eskel finds himself nodding. “Okay,” he agrees, and then gets up anyway, crossing to the washstand. He wets and wrings out a cloth, bringing it back to the bed with him so that he can wipe the worst of the mess from the incubus’ skin, then his own.

“Mm, thank you,” the incubus murmurs, wrapping an arm around Eskel as he settles beside him. It’s not cold enough to need a blanket, but not so hot that the press of another’s body is welcome.

As strange as it is, the incubus seems to want nothing more than to be held. A horn presses smoothly against Eskel’s shoulder as they lie together, the too-fast rhythm of the incubus’ heartbeat slowing just a little.

“Will you tell me your name?” he’s asked, the question murmured against his chest.

“Eskel.”

He feels the smile. “A pretty name.”

He huffs. Nothing about him is pretty.

“I mean it!” the incubus protests, pushing himself up just enough to stare down at Eskel. To his surprise, cups Eskel’s scarred cheek, tenderly caressing the ruined skin. “It’s a pretty name. And you, my darling Witcher—”

His breath catches, the words jarring outside of the necessity of fucking, of pleasing each other.

“—are probably not told often enough how handsome you are.”

All he can do is stare, knowing in the back of his mind that one day this story will make a good joke, but today is not that day.

“I knew it,” the incubus sighs softly, and then leans dangerously close, his lips a whisper away from brushing against Eskel’s. “Will you kiss me again, Eskel? I do so like it when you do that.”

Why, Eskel can’t imagine. There is a world of far more satisfying people than him to kiss out there.

But the incubus lingers a heartbeat away, blue eyes fathoms deep with longing, even though the heat of primal, ravenous desire is all but absent.

“I don’t know your name,” Eskel realises.

There’s a small, beautifully delicate smile as the answer is given. “Jaskier.”

“Jaskier,” Eskel echoes, and then presses against the incubus with a sigh, surrendering to the touch that, even without base need driving it, feels good. It feels better, even, because it’s given and received willingly quite simply for the want of it.

“I’m definitely going to want to fuck you again later,” Jaskier murmurs, and Eskel laughs softly, because of course he will. “But right now…”

He settles back down, tugging Eskel with him until they’re both lying comfortably, fingers idly tracing over each other’s skin.

“Right now, I like this.”

As unexpected as it is, Eskel likes it too.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [lunacosass](https://lunacosass.tumblr.com/) ^^
> 
> Comment and kudos, as always, are dearly treasured!


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